


Dress Code

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Blackmail, Humiliation, Interns & Internships, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Harassment, Situational Humiliation, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Verbal Humiliation, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon gets called into Mr. Bolton's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Code

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helwolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helwolves/gifts).



> WHOOPS I REALIZED I GIFTED THIS TO THE WRONG PERSON

Theon chews at his lip ring when he gets the message to head to Mr. Bolton's office. He's always the one Mr. Stark (he has to swallow down the name Ned on the job) sends when there's budget cuts, and there's something weird about the man. Almost like he enjoys the job.

Robb pats him on the back and smiles that stupidly wide and warm grin he has, and Theon even feels confident for a moment.

"You'll do fine. You've been doing great and everyone likes you," Robb chirps. It's nice to hear, but most of Theon's job is getting coffee and filing old accounts.

When he passes the water cooler Mr. Bolton's son is there slacking off with a few other guys from HR. He looks away from his conversation for a moment (fantasy football it sounds like? Ramsay seems bored by it...) to smirk at Theon, his face uncomfortably knowing for Theon's tastes. Maybe he's ratted to his dad about the papers Theon misplaced....

The blinds around Roose's windows are shut so Theon knocks at the door. The noise is hollow and resounding. He's let in with a buzz as the door unlocks.

"Mr. Greyjoy. Close the door behind you."

Mr. Bolton doesn't look up from his paper work yet. His suit is clearly well made, charcoal gray with crisp lines that fit his lean figure. He's wearing a black button up shirt, and a tasteful looking silver watch surrounds his right wrist.

Theon knows better than to speak until Roose asks him to. The room is sterile, only decorated by manilla folders and filing cabinets. There's not even any photos on his desk. The silence is uncomfortable, but he waits.

There is an excruciating length of time where Roose signs a number of pages, before he finally looks up at Theon. Maybe it was better the first way after all. Roose's face is pale and remarkably average except for his eyes. His eyes are cutting either through or past Theon and he can't tell which.

Roose's fingers interlock as he places them in front of him on his desk. His eyes flick over Theon in a brief assessment.

"Your tie is wrinkled. Either iron it or take it off."

His voice is flat and icy, and the suddenness of the order takes Theon back.

"I.. Robb said it was fi--"

Roose speaks over him and despite the softness of his voice Theon can't help but listen. Robb got him this job, and if he fucks this up (like he fucks everything up), it'll reflect on him.

"Always watching out for you isn't he? I didn't bring you here to waste my time with excuses," Roose continues.

Theon fumbles with his tie for a moment. He lets it hang around his neck at first, unsure where to put it.

Roose looks him over again and Theon feels like everything is being stripped away. All the smiling, the jokes, and the clothes he had to borrow from Robb just to be able to dress for the job. Thoughts of his father's house creep back to him ( _letting another man dress you-- my own son_ ) and Theon looks down, he has to look down. All the walls he's placed are melting and he is alone now, except for Mr. Bolton and a familiar sense of self-loathing.

"We have standards here, Mr. Greyjoy. standards you have failed to keep to," Roose hisses. There's a creak and he can hear Mr. Bolton standing, but he still cant bear to look. "You seem to think that, just because you and Robb Stark pal around, you can waltz in wearing whatever you like.”

His eyes wince shut and he feels the heat of another body lingering behind him. Roose's watch clicks with each passing second. The neck tie slides up and over his shoulders, and there's a soft noise as it hits the ground. Roose's hands aren't on him, but this feels wrong, like he's in danger. He should leave right now, but Theon doesn't. He can't.

Roose's arms are wrapped around him, and the first button of his shirt is coming undone. Theon thinks he might scream, wants to even, but it gets caught in his throat. He's short of breath-- even breathing feels tight. It stops. He can feel Roose has moved.

“Open your eyes.”

Roose is leaning back against his desk, staring at the small triangle of skin now showing. There's little in his face, and Theon can't tell if he's pleased. Maybe he's satisfied now.

“Finish taking it off. Unless you rather I undress you like a boy,” Roose continues. The threat is said softly, almost kindly. Theon's cheeks flush all the worse for it. If Mr. Bolton were simply some asshole it'd be easier to bear, but in stead his words get under Theon's skin. Robb's done everything for him to make his life better, and this is what he does with it.

Roose watches as he works his way down, eying each new part of him. Theon shrugs the shirt from his shoulders. He hates himself as he does it, but he'd rather not have Mr. Bolton do it.

“It's Robb's-- Don't make me—” Theon can't finish the sentence. “I won't--”

Roose shakes his head, rolling up his sleeves. His forearms are pale with thin dark hair.

“You will, My. Greyjoy,” he insists with a hiss.

Theon considers running, but his clothes are scattered. What would people think, him walking through the office, half-dressed?

When his pants reach his ankles, Theon steps out of them. Roose's eyes flick up over his legs and settle on his white briefs.

“Did you borrow those from Robb as well?” Roose teases. Theon's hands form in to tight balls to keep himself from squirming.

Mr. Bolton stands suddenly and clothes the gap between them. Theon is fairly tall, but Roose stands just slightly above him. He's looking down further than he needs to make eye contact. Theon swallows hard, as Roose's finger hooks around the band of his underwear.

“Now you're going to get down on your knees.....” Roose whispers. His breath tickles against Theon's face, and Theon could swear he's actually smiling. It feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest. That might even be preferable. “And pick up your clothes. You've made a mess of my office.”

Roose backs away, his pace brief and words said bluntly. The shock only fades when Roose's fingers tap against his desk.

“Well?”

Theon moves to the ground. Roose's shoes are clean and clearly well made leather. His stare is still on Theon as he gets his things, his tongue flicking over his thin lips. Theon dresses quickly.

“Leave the tie here on my desk, and I expect you'll be dressed properly the next time I see you.”

Theon manages to squeak out a brief, “Yes, sir.” He's never called Mr. Bolton that before, but it happens reflexively. Roose pats him on the back approvingly.

He sheepishly plops the tie on Roose's desk before heading to the door. As his hand settles on the knob he catches himself mumbling, “Thank you, Mr. Bolton.”

“Think nothing of it.”


End file.
